Date: Mon, 01 Jun 1998 17:41:56 GMT From: Margaret Howell Subject: *NEW* "Checks and Mates" by L. Howell Title: Checks and Mates Author: Linda Howell Disclaimer: Okay. I own everything. You, the world, everything! (demented laughter) No, really. I do not own Mulder or Scully or anything. I po'. These characters are the property of Fox, 1013, etc. Please don't sue...No profit is made on this little adventure. Remember, I po'. Spoilers: The End Classification: VA Distribution: Anywhere as long as my name and address stay attached. Feedback: Welcome as always at bookdal@bellsouth.net Author's notes: I decided to enter the world of "The End" fanfic. Don't groan, please. Come on, the emotional wallop of this episode begged for countless numbers of fan fiction stories. Mine does not make mention of that person Diana. I refuse to acknowledge her existence. She was a mere blip in the "X-Files" universe. So there. Other than that, I hope you enjoy my take on the season finale. My thanks go out to all those who have sent me feedback on my previous stories, and I throw a special thanks out to my email buddy Linda Philips and my best friend (and honest reader) Carolyn. Summary: One night, the game becomes clear to Mulder and leaves him with a decision he must make...no matter what happens. Told from Mulder's POV -------------- Checks and Mates By Linda Howell I have seen many things in this sad life of mine. Incredible things which go unexplained and undefined. Mundane things which I generally take for granted. Small, innocent things which I cannot recall or repeat. Yes, I have seen many things, but I have yet to see her. Out there among the blinking neon lights and the hopeless smiles, she walks alone. I know her well enough to know that. She is thinking of ways to save me, to console me. She believes I am devastated, and a part of me is rocked by grief. Five years of my life burned down in one night. But there is something else going on. I know it. They know it. She is the only one left in the dark. The game is in its final round. Both sides have maneuvered their pieces into place, and my queen is left exposed. She stands alone on the other side of the charred remains. She makes me vulnerable, and they see it. Their beady, sweat-lined eyes assess the board with glee; only one more move to go and I am dead. Now, it is my turn. I wish I could leave the game. Over the last nine months, I have tried my best to bow out, hoping that I couldsalvage some artifacts of my life without losing everything I care about, but I cannot escape the truth. The truth, like most things, is wrapped in layers. There is not one, but many. Early on in the game, they lingered on their side, every once in a while stealing a minor piece, but playing it carefully, not drawing too much attention to themselves. Then, the stakes were raised. Suddenly, my key pieces were taken away. I finally realized what I was playing. In one moment of epiphany, I looked down at the board and realized that the queen I had claimed for so long was actually the pawn they were using to attack me. They knew who my real queen was long before I did. Ah, there is the crux of the match: all of the pieces are the same color, so I never know which ones are mine. Now, they circle the castle. Both enemies and friends push us into a retreat, and only the two of us remain. We look out across the carnage and watch as the smoke rises above the battlefield; one more loss in the secret war. The little boy gone. The blind assassin dead. The return of the devil. Three events tied inextricably together. We are the threads of a carefully crafted quilt. What is the design? A slight sound awakens me from my thoughts. A key turns in the door and she appears as all saviors do: in the moment of greatest need. The hallway light throws a halo around her body, and for a brief second, I feel the urge to drop to my knees. Mother, child, sister, lover, friend...She is them for me. My desire for her breaks all of my functional boundaries. At times, it is as distorted as it is removed, as demonic as it is holy. I clench my hands in resistance. To what do I resist? I protest against the need that shakes my soul, the need which begs for her touch and her consolation. I renounce the need to crawl to the arms that always wrap around me when I fall into this hellish abyss. She is my queen, and I worship her with silence. That is the only gift this broken Magi can produce. Moments pass in peace. My eyes strain to see her face, but the shadow obscures my view. After countless seconds, she closes the door behind her. In the artificial light of my apartment I can see the red-rimmed eyes and the mouth pouted in sadness. She lost tonight as well. "Mulder?" The hitch in her voice garbles my name, making it sound like `mer.' I know she hurts. The pain is for the mysteries we will never solve, the prospect of being separated, hell...the pain is for everything this cursed night has begot. "Come here." It is all I can say. Silently, she sits beside me. Her hands play with the tiny straps of her purse, making disfigured eights from her absent thoughts. She is tense with some unknown secret. I can tell by the way she keeps looking back and forth between me and the floor. "What is it, Scully?" Startled, she looks up. Emotions run across her face: sorrow, relief, hopelessness, they are all there. "I promised him," she hesitates, "I promised him I would not let them take him....I lied, Mulder...I lied, and I didn't even know I was lying, but maybe I did? We can't stop them...They just take and take, and we are left with nothing but the ravaged remains....Why, Mulder?" I am devastated. I have done this, all of it. I was born, and from that moment on, I became the beacon for disaster. What can I say to her? The only thing I hear is the approach of the enemy; they have started the assault on the castle. I reach out to touch her shoulder, "Scully, you didn't lie. You couldn't stop them.....You couldn't have known that." They are small words, but they are all I own. Her head falls forward, resting lightly on the wooden table top. I stroke the dark red hair, gently massaging the tension away. She mumbles her "thanks." We stay like this for a long time when suddenly she whispers, "Mulder, why do you think they like torturing me?" I don't answer her. Slowly, she lifts her head so that our eyes meet. "They are torturing me, you know? First, the abduction, my sister's death, my cancer, and now they taunt me with children I can never have nor save. I want so much to believe that these are the consequences of my life, but more and more I see them as the results of my career. What is going on here Mulder?" I feel my hand slip down, away from her. The game is not over. "Scully, they have put me in check. Beyond that Dana, I don't know. I don't think they want me dead. They had too many opportunities to kill me before....They want to destroy me, you, and everything we are, but I...no, WE won't let them, I promise." But promises, like truths, are multilayered. Both of us realize how similar lies and oaths appear, but they are the only weapons I possess. Leaving her to contemplate my words, I get up to stretch my tired limbs. I reach towards the ceiling, maybe even the sky. I am exhausted...spent. Somehow, my life has infiltrated all those around me, pulling them onto the game board where I play warrior and protector. I turn to look at her. She has moved from the sofa to stand in front of me. Her clear blue eyes pin me down, paralyzing me with their intensity. "What happens now?" She asks. A voice inside my head tells me to grab her and kiss her. It urges me to apologize for the future I stole from her, the past I contaminated, and the present I have created. Above all else, it wants recompense for not having realized her importance before tonight. This is the voice of the dedicated liege. The rational part of me simply shrugs, "We wait for the opponent to make his next move." She nods her head in agreement. Like me, she recognizes the inherent danger of our journey now. With knowledge, we gain power, but power leaves us open to more loss. We are all we have left. The next move will be personal. I start to head toward the kitchen when I feel her hand on my arm. My eyes glance at her and remain. There is something new inside her soul. I want to call it desire. It seems like desire, but it is colored with other emotions that I have seen but have never known. Like love and acceptance. No, Scully. You can't do this. Not now when I must prepare for the worst. She refuses to read my mind. She sees my struggle, but she just walks past it. "Let me stay with you tonight." A simple request loaded with complicated repercussions. My mind says no. My eyes and my voice say, "Yes." Meanwhile, the detached and reasonable corner of my mind catalogs this moment, so when I reflect upon it years from now, I will have a reference for the conflicting sensations which war within me. I want to remember every detail. Delicately, as if I were a child, she places her hands upon my face. The softness of her palms combined with the gentle fragrance of her perfume conjures up memories of velvet rose petals. I stare at her. I am emotionally naked with her. She could pluck my heart from me and I would let her. My gaze shifts to her lips. Red with life and full of promise, I feel myself move closer to them. A breath of time stands between us. It is a moment of suspended space. At last, we meet. Our mouths caress hesitantly. The kiss is not the sloppy, unrealistic kind found in unexceptionable movies. Rather, it is pure, devoid of doubt and confusion. It is right. My fingers slip into her hair. I draw her closer and closer in passion. Our muted sighs mingle with each other, filling the room with a background melody. Behind my closed eyes, I see her five years ago with long reddish brown hair. I watch as she appears and disappears from my shadowy life. I stare at the emaciated face of my best friend; I hear the intelligent voice of my partner. Behind my eyes, I make love to her a million times in a million different places, a million different ways. I draw her even closer, wanting to exhaust my pleasure in a single act. Finally, our lips part. I open my eyes. She stands before me, and I realize that if we were two other people, we would be in bed now. However, we are not anybody else. We are Mulder and Scully, and we know this is all we can have. It is a way to bandage a deepening wound. It is a stolen kiss on a cursed night in the middle of a wargame. Too many things are going on for us to selfishly expect more. This is enough. Our tears and self-recriminations will soften the importance of this emotional slip, abandoning the moment to remain where all of the other emotions live: in the past. We have to lay it to rest. If not, our enemies will use everything against us, and now that I know what (or rather who) they want to annihilate, I can play the game. And the first rule of war is to never give your opponent the means by which they can destroy you. For them, the weapon is Dana Scully. Ironically, my solemn thoughts are accompanied by the sound of Scully working in the kitchen. She is making coffee and trying to find something for us to eat. She is reconstructing the normal pace of our lives and our partnership while my mind surveys the pieces on the board-I am certain that two are mine-the rest are open to interpretation. What is our strategy? I can see that they are positioned for the final attack....Scully. But what can I do? They will not take her. I know I will stop them. There are many things I regret in this life, many things I've done that have resulted in the loss of my loved ones. Sacrifices litter the road I follow in my quest for the truth. Too many. But not her. Never her. A cup is set before me. I glance up at Scully, and I know what must be done. My next move decided, I grab her hand and smile up into her eyes. She has no idea what I am willing to do, nor will I tell her. She smiles back. Another moment to catalog in my mind, possibly the last one. "We'll be okay, Mulder." I nod my head. At least, *you* will be okay Scully. I promise you come what may, you will survive me and my life. Perhaps sensing the severity of my thoughts as she so often does, she slips her arms around me. We sit this way for hours until she falls asleep. Her head rests on my lap. I stroke her cheeks gently, praying that my hands can store memory as well as my brain can. A few tears slip past my eyes, but I wipe them away quickly. This is how I will remember her: at peace in my arms. I continue to contemplate my life as the dawn creeps through the windows. The sunlight falls across her face, illuminating her with an ethereal glow. I place a soft kiss on her forehead before I depart. She stirs but does not fully awaken. Her sleepy voice whispers, "Mulder?" I lean down, letting my tear-streaked cheek lay against her smooth one. I breath in her scent and whisper back, "I'm here Scully." She sighs and falls back into a deep sleep. I glance at her one last time as I shut the door. Yes, I have seen many things in this sad life of mine, and now I can say I finally see her. The door clicks noiselessly. I walk down the hall, knowing that the time draws near....the board is revealed and both sides must confess to the truth of their crimes. But the truth, like most things, is ambiguous. There are only two realities I know for certain now: Scully will survive this game. And I will die on a field surrounded by enemies and compatriots....By checks and mates.....But I will do so armed with honor and love. No matter what, I win. The End Author's notes: Good? Bad? Average? Could be better? Could be worse? Should I ever write again?